She held her bruised wrist to him.
‘Will you—will you kiss it well again?’
The way in which she said it was as nearly pathetic as anything from poor Alice could be. Her misery was so profound, and this childish forgiveness of an outrage was so true a demonstration of womanly tenderness which her character would not allow to be noble. Her husband laughed rather uneasily, and did her bidding with an ill grace. But yet she could not go.
‘You’ll promise never to speak—’
‘Yes, yes, of course I promise. Come back to me. Mind, shall know how you did it.’
‘But why? What is she to us?’
‘I’ll tell you afterwards.’
There was a dawning of jealousy in her eyes.
‘I don’t think you ought to make your wife lower herself—’
His brow darkened.